thegraverunnersguildfandomcom-20200216-history
TRP: Larkin and Mishka (Recompense)
Jen: SETTING The Sugar Glider, the morning after Drunken Night The first mistake, Larkin concluded, was waking up. Once she had, there was a minute of cozy sleepiness, wrapped in a blanket, gently swaying in her hammock, rocked by the ship's motion down in the darkness of the hold. Then came the headache. And the nausea. The second mistake, and she hadn't had too many chances to learn this one before, was trying to get out of the hammock before inevitably puking on herself. She managed a sitting position, bending over the edge but the movement set the hammock to swinging so much, all she could do was hold onto it while loosing the remains of the night's drinking in a heave. "Ugh," she groaned. "Fuck." Breathe, Larkin, breathe, it's gonna be- ugh, nope. She retched up more, coughing and panting. The third and final mistake was not just lying down again and pretending to be dead - Larkin very much felt like it but now that she was awake, aware of the ship's rocking motion, aware of her protesting stomach and the pounding behind her eyes, she'd rather be a walking corpse out in the fresh air instead of down here. She closed her eyes for a moment, mustering the strength to get up. Images of the night bobbed to the surface and tatters and pieces of conversations. Had Raef really- and had she talked to Goro about- ugh, no. She was in no condition to reflect on that. Later. She sat up again, cautious not to further upset her stomach, and dumped herself out of the hammock. Suprisingly, she managed to land on her feet and avoid the puddle of puke. She made her way through the hold, eyes closed and hands outstretched to feel her way around the crates and up the stairs. The morning light piercing even through her closed eyes, multiplying the headache told her she'd reached the upper deck. Once her fingers found the wood of the railing, she slumped down, arms wrapped around it and head hanging out over the ocean. This was doable. She'd stay like this for a while. Coyote: Mishka was having a good day today. He hummed quietly to himself, reading one of Nixie's sordid romance novels. Man, he really needed to have a talk with her and make sure she didn't take these books seriously. The girl was highlighting passages and scribbling notes in the margins. Miss Larkin Basha stumbled out of the hold and leaned over the railing. Huh. Seasick or hungover. Mishka sat up. He went to the kitchen, grabbed a couple things, and mixed them together. Sniffed it. He snapped his fingers, heated the water in an instant, and poured it into the cup. He let it steep for a second, then mixed in some sugar and cream-- just a touch. He took a drink of it, swirled it around in his mouth so it'd smell like he'd been drinking it too, then spat the mouthful out in the sink. He made a second cup with just a tiny amount so it'd look like he'd already drank his. Then he went outside. "Good morning, sun--" Nope, she didn't look like she'd appreciate being called sunshine. "Miss Ba--" That got him a look. "Well. Good morning, Larkin." He offered her the full cup, then pretended to take a sip of his. "Hangover?" Jen: Why, dear Mask, patron of thieves and all the wretched creatures, couldn't she just be miserable in peace? Was it because she didn't worship him enough? This was a mean way to let her know. Larkin turned her head to squint up at the voice - oh, fan-fucking-tastic, it was Haeth. She sent a curse up to the god of thieves. And then an apology. "What's it fuckin' look like," she mumbled, eyeing the cup. Smelled like... coffee? She consulted with her stomach for a second but then decided taking the cup wasn't worth the effort. Every movement made the world around her spin and waver. She hung her head back down and spat. Coyote: Mishka leaned back and let her vomit. He eyed her, trying to figure out how to approach this. Mishka liked games, and flattery, and jokes, and a bit of mutual manipulation. Renar Basha didn’t like any of those things— which made Mishka a bit miffed (who didn’t like flattery? Mishka loved flattery). He’d only known Miss Basha here for a few days, but so far it seemed like she resembled her uncle Renar a lot more than her father, Kheman. He couldn’t quite get a grasp on how to manipulate Renar, despite knowing the man for years. So far all he’d figured out was that Renar liked people who did their job and kept their mouths shut. Mishka set the cup down. “How’s your father doing? Recovering well? I’ll admit, I liked him, but we weren’t that close. Haven’t checked on him much.” Small question. Easy. Basic. Didn’t give anything away. Jen: "God," Larkin groaned. She spat out some saliva, trying to remove the taste of bile from her mouth. She slid down to sit on the planks, back to the railing and holding her head in her hands. "Can you... can you just-" piss off? Go bother someone else? Let me die in peace? "can you get me some water?" Coyote: Mishka eyed her again. He might have to drop it and seek info a different way, a different time. He set the coffee down in front of her. Then pulled out his waterskin and held it out to her. Jen: Larkin took a sip out of the waterskin, sloshed it around her mouth a bit then spat it out. Took another few sips and this time swallowed them. It did nothing to ease the headache or to stop the world from moving but it felt better on her stomach. Actually, she didn't feel quite as nauseous anymore now that all the left-over alcohol was gone. She gave Haeth a sideways glance. Oh well, she guessed he deserved some nice comment now. "Thanks," she said, waving with the waterskin. "Dad's... okay where he is. Thanks for that, too, I guess." Coyote: "Mm." He probably shouldn't explain that he only helped Kheman to keep an eye on him. "You're welcome. It's true, I'm wonderful and helpful like that." Thought, silently, of how he was going to word this. He wanted to fiddle with something, but had nothing to fiddle with. He'd heard rumors that Renar Basha had traitors-- and other such problems-- kidnapped in the middle of the night and cut to pieces, or flayed, or thrown into the harbor tied to rocks. It was entirely possible they were just rumors; Mishka never prodded that far. "So," Mishka said. "Hansel tells me you know everything, huh." Jen: Wonderful and helpful and no doubt humble as hell. Larkin snorted at that but opted for more water instead of a comment. Man, this guy wasn't just oblivious about how little interest she currently had in talking to him, he was deliberately taking advantage of it. She thought of just getting up and leaving - but that would've required her being able to walk. Larkin was pretty sure she'd lost that skill somewhere along with the contents of her belly. She sighed and hugged the waterskin. "Hm. Yep. S'pose so." Coyote: "So," Mishka said. "Is my husband going to be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night and cut into pieces?" Hansel wasn't his husband. But Hansel wasn't around to hear that word, so Mishka used it carefully, out of earshot. It might make Renar pause, knowing Hansel was married to one of his business partners. Or it might mean nothing and do nothing. Jen: Larkin had had her eyes closed, warding off the stinging sunlight but now she opened them to glance up at Haeth. Giving him a long, hard look. The drop of banter wasn't lost on her and she wondered what it meant. Fuck, it was so hard to tell with this guy. Concern for Hansel? Reasonable to assume. A hidden threat? Probably depending on her answer. "Not by me, nah," she said. It wouldn't satisfy him but she couldn't possibly make promises for her uncle. Coyote: Mishka sat on a large coil of rope, stretching out his legs to signal I ain't going fucking anywhere, so get used to talking to me. "Does your uncle know?" Maybe he could pay her to keep her mouth shut. Nope, that wouldn't work; Kheman would tell Renar, and Kheman couldn't be bought off. There was also the risk she'd be insulted by his offer; not enough info to get a read on her. Jen: "You're an annoying piece of shit, you know that?" She grimaced at him, then glance over to where the cup of coffee was still steaming. She'd have to move to reach it. Larkin pointed at it, still hugging the waterskin with the other hand. "Gimme that." Coyote: Mishka's eyes narrowed. Fuckin' Bashas. He silently got up to hand her the coffee, then moved to leave. He'd come back later, once something had changed, or she was more approachable somehow. Not enough info, here. Jen: Larkin took the coffee from him and sniffed it- then looked up in surprise when he didn't sit down again. Well, this was certainly something to be noted. But nothing good either. Shit. Again, she couldn't read what the hell that meant. Was he just so easily insulted? Or would he run off and do something stupid now? She didn't know Haeth but she knew this kind of behaviour. It usually meant bad things were about to happen. Fuck. Shit. Why now? She was in no condition to navigate this. "Haeth," she said. "Wait." Coyote: He paused, eyes flickering over to her, and half-turned. A bit like Renar, a bit like Goro, not at all like Kheman. Maybe he could work with that. Jen: "You can tell Hansel, Pa doesn't want him dead. He wants him to remember." Coyote: Huh. She seemed serious. Mishka didn't expect her to stop him. He wasn't upset about the insult, he just didn't engage with that sort of thing. No point. Mishka used to spread rumors about himself. Some of them were true and some of them were false. The guards at his estate were mostly for show; the first month after he'd bought the vineyard, bandits had made the mistake of attacking his home, and he'd burned them alive. No thieves or bandits had dared break into his estate or threaten his servants since. He'd done stuff like that, too, as a pirate. Blowing holes in enemy ships. Mind controlling the enemy into attacking each other. Making pirate captains kneel in front of him and cutting their throat, dumping their still-breathing bodies into the water, forcing them to drown while he had them paralyzed. Mishka cultivated his reputation pretty carefully. Nothing anyone could prove. He didn't like violence, but if you brutally murdered one in twenty-five enemies or so, people got the idea. Enough to make him interesting-- Basil had been fascinated by rumors of Mishka's pirate reputation. But the rumors had be to vague and outlandish enough that Mishka could just wave his hand and laugh delicately. Renar seemed to do the same thing; Mishka had heard rumors about Renar making examples of people, and Mishka didn't want to find out if they were true or not. Didn't want to wake up to find Hansel had been dragged out of bed and buried alive, or whatever creative punishment the Bashas came up with. Mishka wasn't ruthless. But sometimes it helped if people thought he was. Mishka thought over what to say next. Might as well try another question. "If Kheman doesn't want Hansel dead-- with that stop your dear uncle?" Jen: Haeth was on the right track here. Larkin wasn't even sure if it would. She had no idea if Renar had gone to visit her father already. There had been no time to talk to him yet and no opportunity to check for messages. She supposed, her dad wouldn't tell Renar about Hansel in the first place but- there was no way of keeping a secret between so many people. Not for ever at least. It all depended on how well her father managed to stand up to his brother. "I can't make promises for Renar." Coyote: She couldn't make promises for Renar. Well, that seemed to imply she herself... didn't want Hansel dead, or wasn't going to do it herself. Mishka mentally made a note of that. "Well," he said. "This might be useless to say, but regardless. If you happen to bump into your dear uncle before I do-- will you pass along a message? Tell him if he wants recompense, I'm willing to make a deal. I'd rather chat before the knives and rope and hot irons come out." Jen: "For sure," Larkin said and showed a smile that was half a grimace. "We all do." She blew over the coffee and drank a bit. "You know, the best way to not have the Basha react badly to something... is not letting him now. If you catch my drift." She looked up at Haeth again, squinting against the bright light. She wasn't sure how far she could and wanted to go in helping this man. She didn't know anything about him besides the usual talk. Didn't know his temper, couldn't read him, couldn't predict him and his attitude was really annoying besides all that. Larkin was very sure she wanted nothing more to do with Mikhail Haeth than was absolutely necessary. Also, Renar going after Hansel was hardly her problem- unless Haeth survived and decided on going on a vendetta. Then it'd turn into a her-problem pretty. fucking quick. She could play messenger bird for once to avoid that. If she really had to. "Hm. But if it looks like he's gonna go after your darling husband... yeah. Sure, I'll tell him." Coyote: "Thanks," Mishka said. "I think we'd both prefer to keep this problem as small and simple as possible. And for the record, Basha-- don't needle me. I don't appreciate it." He flicked his fingers at her in a delicate good-bye, then turned to continue back towards the kitchen. Likely, more people would be hungover. Maybe he could sweeten the coffee enough to make it palatable. Jen: END Category:Text Roleplay